The Reaper's Choice
by the Last Flowerchild
Summary: After Pickles wakes up and discovers that Toki has died, he begins to unwravel the mystery of what happend to the guitarist. His search for the truth leads him searching beyond the grave and into the hands of death itself for answers. SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

****WARNINGS****

**Drugs, alcohol, profanity slash. If you don't like it, don't read it.**

****DISCLAIMER****

**No, I don't own any characters, but the idea for the story is mine.**

_**Reviews are love.**_

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_"Never say die  
>Leave me alone in the night<br>Keep me away from the light  
>Razorblade cuts the line<br>Never say never say die..."  
><em>_Never say Die, by the 69 Eyes_

Pickles was a simple man. He didn't require much, just a little booze and that was it. He didn't think that he had any attachment to anything or anyone in the world, and despite the fact that he possessed everything that he could wish for, he didn't love any of it. He didn't love anything, actually. There were the Klokateers, so humble and macabre in their black hoods, hoods that hid in secrecy the scars they'd received from years of demeaning and dangerous work...

There were the usual extravagant meals, the likes of which included delicacies that weren't found on the average dinner table: almas caviar, steak, lobster, and for the Scandinavian pallet crumb cakes topped with all sorts of delicious, rich berries or creamy streusel...

Then, of course, there were the fan girls, the big-breasted dolls that he verbally abused and detested, but loved to fuck. They were lacy little girls, some as young as fourteen, and they were essentially the same stupid, horny little freaks wrapped up in similar packages, the only differences between them being what they looked like...even this, though, had few variances. Blond, brunette, white, black, Asian, Spanish, French, German—yes, he loved Germans—and, on rare occasions, Australian tanned beauties straight from the dusty, dry Outback.

Life for Pickles was just an endless string of disappointment. He couldn't complete rehab, he couldn't get himself into a committed relationship, and he couldn't be happy with anything about himself. Often enough life bored him to the point where he'd actually begin hurting himself; during boring parties he'd find a fork or any kind of sharp thing and hold it casually, but when nobody was looking he'd stab it into his palm, making sure to draw blood. He'd slice his lip open with his teeth and suck the blood out during those boring meetings about the band. While Ofdensen talked his damn mouth off and everyone else fell into a bored, senseless stupor, he would sit there and indulge in his own liquid life. There were times, though, when someone else would come along and grab his attention. Toki was one of these people.

Pickles never realized how he felt about the guitarist until one day when he began drinking. Often when he was drunk truths emerged from his subconscious and made themselves clear; it was then that he realized that he actually loved the Norwegian. "Toki," he said soon after realizing his feelings for the other man, "I...I..."

But he couldn't do it. Instead he ended up drowning in his own fear of rejection, but there was something else that he did have the courage to do. After all, Toki's lips appeared to be so sweet, so alluring...he leaned forward and, with an amazing amount of passion, kissed the guitarist. For an instant the Norwegian was taken aback by this, but gradually he began to understand. He pushed Pickles away, wiped his mouth off on his hand, and exclaimed, "You ams sick!" and just like that, Pickles was left back where he'd been so many days of his life—alone and feeling nothing but hatred towards himself.

**{{}}{{}}{{}}**

He couldn't let go, couldn't forget just how delicious the Norwegian had tasted. In the end he regretted nothing, only the fact that he hadn't pushed Toki up against the wall and fucked him right there. Maybe this did make him sick, but Pickles didn't care. He wished with everything in him that he wasn't in love with another man, but that couldn't be fixed, so he supposed that he'd have to learn to accept it. Time passed, as did the memory of that fateful kiss, until one boring meeting came along.

Pickles had tried to forget about Toki, but couldn't. Now he sat in his seat, listing to Ofdensen ramble on about how much money they were making, wishing for a way out. Distractedly, he grabbed a rubber band that had been lying in the middle of the table and slipped it around his wrist. He began popping it against his skin, trying to drown out everything around him with pain. It worked for a while, and soon the meeting was over. Everyone got up to leave at once, except Toki. He turned and met the drummer's gaze, a look of concern on his face.

"I saw what you were doings with that thing." he said, rising out of his seat and walking over towards the redhead. Pickles just smiled to himself and flicked the rubber band once again, not even grimacing when it left a red mark on his wrist.

"What, 'dis?" he inquired, indicating the band. "I wasn't doin' nothin', just being bored like you."

"You were hurtings yourselfs." Toki insisted, reaching out to try to claim the rubber band. Pickles caught his wrist and held it in a death grip. The Norwegian's face reddened. "What ams you doing? Lets me go!"

"Nah, I don't think I will." but at the look on Toki's face, he had to release him. Once that was done he rose up out of his chair, took the rubber band off of his now swollen wrist, handed it to the Norwegian, and said, "Have fun with it."

"Pickle, we needs to talk." the guitarist insisted, catching the drummer by his arm and pulling him back. He arched a pierced brow.

"About what, dude?"

"Abouts..." his voice trailed off and he let out a troubled sigh. "Pickle," he finally said, "do you remembers that day when you kissed me?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"It was just because you were drunks, right?"

He thought for a moment, shrugged, and said loftily, "Yeah, sure, whatever." this only seemed to confuse the guitarist more.

He asked, clinging to Pickles, "Please just tells me that it was! I've been worryings about it alots lately..."

"Worryin'?" he laughed. "What do you mean worrying, dude?"

"Abouts, you know, if I'ms gay or not."

"Oh." Pickles nodded in understanding and lightly patted the other man's shoulder. "Listen, don't worry. It didn't mean anything, honest. I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't so drunk, so-"

"But what ifs I would've _wanted _you to dos it?" he asked sweetly. The drummer felt his face growing red, and he took a step away from the other man. What was he doing? This wasn't right in any way.

He swallowed and said, staring intently at the floor, "You didn't, it was an accident and that's all there is too it." Toki took a step nearer the drummer and leaned very close to him, shaking his head.

"Nos," he whispered, his eyes full of passion, "I don't thinks that it was."

"Then what was it?" Pickles didn't realize it, but his hand was slowly beginning to make its way up to the guitarist's cheek; it stayed there, relishing the feeling of such smooth skin.

"I think that I may haves wanted it more if you hadn't been so drunks." he let Pickles pull him close and touch his hand. Pickles was shocked by this; it was as though everything he'd dreamed last night was happening—was this real? No, it couldn't be...it couldn't be because...because...

"I think that I loves you, Pickle."

**{{}}{{}}{{}}**

"Time to get up!" a voice said. Pickles cringed and pulled the covers of his bed up further. He huddled into a ball and shook his head stubbornly.

"No, I'm nat ready to get up!"

It was Ofdensen who said firmly, "Pickles, it's time to get up _now. _You've been asleep all day and we still have work on the alum!"

"But I-"

"If you're not up and down in the studio within ten minutes, I'll send a Klokateer up to drag you out of bed." and with that, the manager slammed the door to the room and left. Pickles let out an angry groan and sat up. He peered around his dim room. In the little bit of sunlight that streamed in from his blinds, he was just able to see an endless supply booze bottles staring back at him. He got out of bed, dressed himself, then proceeded to take the long walk downstairs. He got down there in record time, but to his surprise one person was missing. Arching a brow, Pickles asked loudly, "Hey, where's Toki?"

Everyone's faces grew pale. Skwisgaar's eyes became overly bright as he turned to Nathan and asked in a low voice, "Ammnest he serious?"

"Am I serious about what?" he looked around the room, noted his companion's faces, and felt something inside of him begin to worry. Something was wrong. Something was _very _wrong. "Is he sick or somethin'? I mean, he's alright, isn't he?"

"I-I can'ts—Nathan, I can't deals with this right now." Skwisgaar whispered, walking out of the studio. "This ammnest toos much."

The singer nodded in understanding. A sad, grave look was on his face as he snapped at Pickles, "Don't be stupid; watch your fucking mouth."

"Yeah," Murderface agreed, trying to hide his own sorrow, "don't talk about T..." for some reason he wasn't able to say the guitarist's name. Pickles ran a hand thru his hair and sat down.

He'd been drunk and high yesterday, but what in the hell had he missed? Toki wasn't here and something was clearly amiss. Gradually a kind of cold, horrible understanding swept over him and he raised his head, his emerald eyes wide. "Guys, Toki isn't here any more, is he?"

**{{}}{{}}{{}}**

Everything seemed to happen so quickly—one moment the drummer was in the recording studio, the next Nathan was having a fit, throwing things around, and now Pickles found himself sitting in Ofdensen's office. He sat across from the other man, only separated by a desk, but for some reason the manager seemed miles away from him. His chair was pushed back against the wall, as far as it could go, and he was staring off into space, his head resting on his hand, his eyes red. Pickles swallowed and ventured to say, "I don't get what I did wrong. I was only askin' if he was okay."

Ofdensen said nothing for a long time then finally he shook his head and murmured brokenly, "How could you?"

"How could I _what?"_

"Be so thoughtless!" he whirled around in his chair to face the drummer. His sorrow had temporarily changed into a horrible, sickening rage as he cried, "How can you not remember?"

"Remember what?" Pickles yelled, feeling himself grow pale with fear. He'd never seen Ofdensen act like this. Surely things were worse than he'd ever imagined before.

Time seemed to stand still as Ofdensen said, "How can't you remember that he's dead?"

It seemed as though the drummer's brain absolutely quit working then. Toki was _dead? _How had this happened and why couldn't he remember anything? It took every ounce of strength in him to shake his head and respond with a meek, "N-No, he's nat...he can't be...I don't remember him—he's okay, he's just..."

"He's dead," Ofdensen repeated, wiping his glasses off on his shirt.

"No!"

"He died days ago, Pickles, and you've been asleep since yesterday morning; why can't you remember anything?"

"I...I..." he had no answer for this. All he could do was sit there and repeat mindlessly, "He's nat dead, he's nat dead..." Toki couldn't be dead, because if he was then Pickles had let him go without even telling him how he felt, how much he cared for him. How had the guitarist died, anyway? A million questions were flying around in his brain, but he didn't have the courage to let them travel past his lips. Instead of speaking he just sat there numbly as Ofdensen dug in his desk and pulled out a little bottle of pills.

He passed them over to Pickles and said, "Please, these help, they really do. I've let Nathan and Skwisgaar start taking them—Murderface still says he isn't sad. Maybe they'll help you."

The drummer peered down and attempted to read the label, but couldn't make out the words. His eyes were too blurred with tears to see much of anything. He still didn't think that this was all real, but as he rose up and hurried out of Ofdensen's office, he couldn't help but think back...what had he been doing the last time he'd been awake? Drinking, doing drugs, but what about Toki? How could he have managed to totally forget about the Norwegian's death if it really did happen? Hadn't he gone to the funeral, or had everyone just allowed him to sleep thru everything? More importantly, how did Toki die? He had been young, stupid yes, but so young...he hadn't done too many drugs or drank in excess all that much, so how could he just not be living?

Blindly Pickles had made his way out of the Mordhaus, past all of the droves of Klokateers that worked outside, and to a quiet corner of the yard. Once there he fell to his knees and finally began to sob. A few yards away, sitting erect and cold in a clearing of freshly turned earth, was a marble tombstone.

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****A/N****

**This story isn't designed to play itself out perfectly and be predictable. It will be presented in short little pieces, and the ending won't be what you think it will be. I hope you enjoy this small little story, and remember that reviews are love. There's more to come. **

**PEACE & LOVE**


	2. Chapter 2

Girls were complete wastes of life, but they were good for one thing. One day before Toki's death, Pickles decided that he'd been alone long enough, so he went out with a girl that he'd met at a _Dethklok _concert. They left the Mordhaus and went to a movie, and that's when he officially decided that every single woman in the world was boring. As it turned out, she wasn't into the whole premarital sex thing, even though she clearly wasn't a virgin at all.

"I want a man who I can marry, you know?" she asked. Pickles sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever. Wanna fuck?"

Needless to say, he hadn't gotten very far with that, so he went home horny and annoyed. He stomped into the living room and threw himself down on a couch. Everyone was in their rooms now, so he was free to mope around by himself, or at least that's what he thought until Toki came walking into the room. He gave Pickles a sweet, endearing sort of smile.

"Heys, Pickle. Was it a good date?"

"If it would've been good, I would be fucking her right now." he said gloomily, glaring down at the floor. Toki went over and sat next to him.

"I'm sorry. She didn't works out?" was it just him, or did the guitarist sound somewhat pleased?

"Obviously nat." he said thru gritted teeth. "Obviously she didn't wanna fuck me 'cause she's a stupid, dumb, stupid-"

"You saids that, like, three times."

"-stupid little bitch." he growled, moodily crossing his arms over his chest. It wasn't fair. Skwisgaar could get whatever girl in the world he wanted to fuck him. It didn't matter, because he was hot, he was blond, and, perhaps above all, he was foreign. Maybe if Pickles would've been born in some European place he would have as many girls as the Swede. Toki obviously sensed his annoyance, because in a moment he was trying his best to comfort the redhead.

"It ams okay, there ams other people to fuck."

"No there's nat."

"But-"

"Shut up," he insisted, glaring down at the floor. "I don't wanna talk about it anymore; I'm done with stupid girls. They're nothing but trouble."

"Ja, mes to."

There was a long moment of silence. It seemed as though for the first time in his life the drummer had found someone who actually understood him. Not only that, but Toki appeared to genuinely _care _about his feelings, otherwise he would've been in bed like the others by now. There was something about this that made him realize just how sympathetic and oddly caring Toki was; he was almost like a brother to him, but somehow he was something more. In the back of his mind Pickles began to imagine how lucky all of Toki's girlfriends were—was this the side of the guitarist that he saved only for those who he was going out with? Damn girls, they were too lucky.

Pickles smiled to himself, reached over for the remote, and switched on the T.V. He peered over at the Norwegian and suggested, "Movie?"

He grinned and nodded. "Ja, a movie sounds greats."

They channel surfed until coming up upon the movie _The Lord of the Rings: The Return of The King. _Shamefully, Pickles settled for this when Toki began swearing animatedly that he loved _The Lord of the Rings_ series. They watched a movie marathon of Frodo's conquest to Mordor until the break of dawn.

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Pickles smiled and awoke, stretched, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He remembered the events from the day before, and immediately became depressed. Slowly he reached over to his nightstand to where his bottle of medicine was; he popped open the bottle. He took out a pill and swallowed it dry, then glanced down and read the Rx label. _Lithium. _He frowned then rolled out of bed. Before getting dressed, he put the full bottle of pills safely in his pocket; after taking a moment to throw on an old, dirty shirt, he dragged himself downstairs and into the dining room, where the rest of the band was. To his surprise nobody bothered to notice him. They were too busy talking and laughing, and at the end of the table there was Toki, just as happy and alive as ever.

Pickles' eyes grew wide, but just as he opened his mouth to ask a question, Ofdensen entered the room. He walked right past the astonished-looking drummer and announced, "Well, now that we've all had breakfast, can I go over the day's schedule with you?"

"What the fuck?" Pickles blurted, tugging on the manager's suit in an effort to gain his attention. "Why is Toki here? I thought he was...he was..." his eyes filled with tears at the memory of yesterday. He was still hopelessly confused, and nobody bothered to remedy this. He was left to sit alone wondering if he was still sane or not.

However, Ofdensen and everyone else ignored him. This only angered him further, and he began yelling, nearly sobbing, "What the hell is going an? I thought he was de-" he still couldn't say the word, so instead he continued with, "Am I going crazy? He's right _there?"_

Nothing. Nobody even gave him a second glance. Angrily, Pickles punched at Ofdensen. His fist collided with the man's shoulder, but still he did nothing. Instead he continued to address the rest of the band, sounding just as calm as ever, "No? Nobody wants to know what we've got in store today?"

"Nope," they murmured together, "not really."

"I wants to go and gets ice cream today!" Toki blurted out, taking a sip of his coffee. "I'm tired of just sittings around here doing nothings but recording."

To this they all nodded in agreement and Nathan said, "Yeah, ice cream and hookers. We should all go out tonight."

"What about _me? _Am I even here, or what?" Pickles demanded, slamming his fists against the table. Dishes clattered, silverware clanked together, but still nobody noticed. In a display of pure, desperate rage, the drummer dug the lithium pills out of his pocket, and flung them against the wall. The top opened and the plastic of the bottle cracked, but no pills flew out. Pickles arched a pierced brow. Hadn't that bottle been full just moments ago? Something wasn't right. Why was it as though he was invisible?

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Flesh and blood, hot and filthy sex. His hands were covered in something warm, dripping with stickiness—blood. He reached into the chest, ripped thru flesh, tissue, and muscle, pried apart ribs, until he came to it and ripped it out. Such a wonderful sound, such a sweet taste as he pressed the still beating thing to his lips. Sacrifice. As screams of agonizing pain filled his head, he sank his teeth into the heart and smiled. Toki lay beneath him, sobbing and begging for the pain to stop; blood ran from his nose and his mouth, and there was now a large, gaping hole in his chest where his heart had been. Pickles just laughed and leaned in to kiss him. He tasted the blood that coated the inside of Toki's mouth and relished it.

He licked the blood from his fingers and laughed when he watched it run out of the Norwegian's chest. "Please gives me back my heart," Toki sobbed, covering his pale, sickening face with his red, sticky hands.

Pickles shook his head and leaned down to kiss him. "No," he whispered, "because I love you."

"But I don't loves you. I don't...I hates you..."

_I wish you were dead._

**{{}}{{}}{{}}**

He awoke the next morning and, like before, went downstairs, expecting to see Toki sitting at the table in his usual spot. In his pocket he carried with him his lithium pills, but he hadn't taken a single one since yesterday morning. After finding out that his Norwegian friend was still alive, he'd went right up to his room and passed out. Now he made his way into the dining room and felt his heart sink. Everyone raised their gazes to look at him; their eyes were full of despair and pain.

"I...uh...hey, where's Toki."

Skwisgaar turned to Nathan and demanded, "Ammnest he serious? He can'ts be, not again..."

"What?" he asked, feeling a sick feeling invade his entire body. This, like before, wasn't _right. _This wasn't real. "He was here yesterday, alive just like always..." _Wasn't he?_

No, apparently not, because in a moment Nathan was yelling, "Get out of here if you're going to be like that! _Just get out!"_

He didn't understand. "But I—he was here, right here! Sitting in his chair, laughing and-"

"It wasn't funny to begin with, and it's sure as hell's not funny now." Nathan said, tears running down his pale cheeks. Beside him Skwisgaar and Murderface sat with their head's down, hiding the fact that they were crying as well. Pickles knew that he must be doing the same thing, but he didn't care. Now he just backed out of the room, ran out of the door, and outside.

He didn't understand anything anymore—one moment he woke up and his friend was alive, and now he was...it was impossible. Someone couldn't be living one day and dead the next, could they? In frustration, Pickles fell back against the door of the Mordhaus and collapsed onto his knees, hugging himself. He needed help, he needed to know the truth. He needed to know that he wasn't going crazy.

****{{}}{{}}{{}}****

Toki was sick, so very sick. Pickles worried about him every second, and whenever he could he snuck up to the guitarist's room and sat with him. Usually he would be sleeping, breathing laboriously; the doctor said it was a very bad flu, but it seemed like the plague. The drummer worried so very much during those weeks when the Norwegian was sick. He didn't know what had come over him, but the crushing concern that he felt for the other man couldn't simply go away on it's own.

He remembered the exact day that he realized that his concern was due to an unimaginably strong love he felt for the Norwegian. He had been sitting beside the guitarist's bed, watching him sleep, listening to the T.V. in the background. He watched closely as Toki inhaled and exhaled, the way his lips were slightly parted in his slumber, the way his hair was lying in gracefully straight locks around his face and on his pillow. Pickles smiled to himself and gently placed a hand on the Norwegian's incredibly warm, feverish one.

He leaned close to Toki and whispered in his ear, knowing that he was asleep and gone from the world, "You're so damn beautiful; I love you." How could anyone not?

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He remembered this as he sat outside on the steps of the Mordhaus. He'd cried all of the tears that he could, and he was shaking violently, on the edge of making himself sick with grief, but he decided then where he must go. He got to his feet and staggered all the way to the tombstone that he'd found days before. It shined with the dew of early morning and thru his teary eyes he was able to make out the words, so clearly etched in bold and engraved into the marble, _Pickles the Drummer, Rest In Peace._

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****A/N****

**Hope you're enjoying this story. There's only about one more chapter left. Also, a lot of people have recently been wondering if I'll write stories with them. Sorry, not to be mean, but I'm just not ready to begin collaborating with other authors—I'm busy with my own stuff and all of that, so yeah...no offense, but I've gotta say no for right now. Anyways, reviews are appreciated and thanks for reading. And in case you're wondering, I'm a total LOTR geek. Sorry about that. :P**

**PEACE & LOVE**


	3. Chapter 3

Air seemed to become thin, impossible to breathe as Pickles backed away from his tombstone. This couldn't be real—he wasn't dead, was he? Surely not. That was impossible, because he couldn't even remember dying at all. Wouldn't he be able to recall something as important as that? All at once his life seemed to be slipping out from under him and all he could do was sit down in the cool grass and rest his forehead on the cool marble of the tombstone.

Perhaps this was a joke that they were playing on him, or better yet a dream. That had to be it, because if he was dead then that meant that...what did that mean exactly? It meant that he'd lost everything he'd worked his whole life to attain, but also something much, much worse—he'd lost Toki. He'd never even be able to see his smiling face again, to laugh at his stupid jokes or comfort him. Pickles swallowed down the tears that were now threatening to overtake him and looked up. So, he'd died and Toki didn't even know how much he was loved?

A million thoughts raced thru his brain as he sat there by the tombstone and stared up at the bleak, gloomy sky overhead. Although he wasn't certain, he was pretty sure that he couldn't leave this spot or wander very far; there was some unimaginable hold that the place, the place that his corpse eternally rested, had on him, and he couldn't shake it. It seemed to be the only thing tethering him to the ground then, keeping him from crossing over into whatever else the afterlife held in store for him—no, there had to be another reason that he was still there. After all, not everyone hung around after they died, did they? So he must have left something unfinished or—Toki.

Pickles swallowed and felt himself growing numb. Yes, that had to be it. The only thing that he could think of that would still be keeping him here, holding him back from a peaceful death, was the fact that Toki had no clue that the drummer loved him. What could he do? Obviously nobody could really see him or hear him...

Without hope, Pickles did the only thing he could think to do—he sat directly in front of the gravestone. Resting his back against the marble, he closed his eyes and let himself sink into a deep sleep, into the very soil of the Earth.

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Sleep, of course was impossible, but Pickles didn't dare open his eyes for fear of what he'd find himself lying there next to in the ground. Instead he drifted off into an odd place, one that was comprised of entirely nothing—no, nothing wasn't the word, because the very fact that there is a word for nothingness makes it _something. _No, Pickles was in a place entirely devoid of everything, so much so that it was beyond the point of mere nothingness. It was emptier than empty, quieter than quiet, and lonelier than lonely. Words couldn't describe that place; Pickles was sure that if he tried to write down his thoughts about it, it would end up taking him one-hundred pages at least, probably more. Some creeping instinct inside of him—the same one that had told him that he couldn't wander too far away from his grave—said that this was Purgatory. Another part said that it was so desolate and utterly miserable that it had to be Hell. Either way, he laid there in wait, for what he didn't know, for what seemed like centuries. He didn't know what else to do, because there wasn't much he _could _do, so he waited and slept.

Then he heard that sweet, sorrowful voice that, when he had been alive, he'd adored so much. "Well, you've beens dead for three months now, but I just wants you to know that I still really misses you, Pickle. I thinks about you a lot, and everyone ams still really sad that you ams gone. I-I can't believe that you ams not here anymore."

This sent him spiraling out of that more-than-nothing zone of silence and Pickles sat up. He felt dirt fall from his stiffened limbs as he stood up. Just as he'd expected, Toki was standing right in front of him, his pale eyes full of tears as he said, "I really misses you, Pickle."

"I'm right _here." _he said, reaching for Toki's hand with his own dirt-encrusted one.

The Norwegian neither heard nor saw him, because in a moment he was sobbing and wailing, "Why ams you dead?"

"Look at me!" he yelled equally as loud and with as much sadness in his voice, "I'm right here!" he felt his eyes burning with tears as he touched the guitarist's hand and squeezed it. "Please see me, please..."

Toki tried to blink back his tears, but instead he just ended up wiping them away. Pickles stood there about a foot away trying to think of how to proceed. "Please," he whispered, "p-please see me. I need you so bad..." his voice broke unexpectedly then, and he was left to stand there feeling quite ashamed of himself.

He tried to pull the Norwegian into his arms, to embrace him forever, but he couldn't; his touch had no effect on the guitarist. He was left to stand there weeping, facing the only thing he'd ever loved and wanted in the world, unable to even whisper to him. Pickles wanted to comfort him, to tell him that it was okay, he was still there and always would be, just so long as Toki still needed him. He wanted so many things, but for some cruel, unimaginable reason he could have nothing.

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He spent the night sitting against his tombstone, never closing his eyes or allowing his thoughts to drift away and perhaps carry him off into that endless, more-than-nothing oblivion. It was then, as he watched light bugs dart across the massive yard of the Mordhaus, as he listened to the crickets and frogs sing their nighttime song, that he felt most alone and desperate. Death hadn't really been the terrifying thing for him, but this, the crushing solitude that he felt, knowing that nothing could be done about him, knowing that he had lost his voice, was the worst thing he'd ever experienced. He sat, ran his dirt-encrusted, blackened fingers thru the loose earth. He drew pictures in the dirt, using the moonlight as his only source of illumination. Slowly morning came, and he watched for the first time as the sun slowly crept above the Mordhaus. Had he ever seen a more beautiful sunrise?

Although his grave was under the cool shade of a tree, a few precious rays of the golden light still streamed thru the gaps in the branches and struck his filthy skin; he felt nothing. No warmth, no dampness from the early morning dew, not even a hint of chilliness from the breeze that cut thru the trees occasionally. Nothing. Perhaps that was truly death—a long, endless expanse of nothing. No emotion, no pain...

Nothing. No love?

Pickles sighed and hugged his knees to his chest. He'd never felt so powerless before, and it filled him with fear and shame. Tears bubbled to the surface, threatened to overtake him, but he wouldn't let them. He couldn't let himself lose control now, because he had a job to do. What that job was exactly, he had no clue. He just knew that something had to be done, and when he heard the sound of Toki's voice, he knew what it was.

The Norwegian's voice came out as a started half gasp of surprise, and an exclamation of fear. "P-Pickle?"

The drummer nodded and didn't bother to look up. He just responded with a simple, "Yeah, I'm here, you fucking idiot. I just wish you could see me..." _but you can't. _He began to sob. In an instant he felt a warm had on his shoulder, and he finally raised his head and looked up. Toki's pale eyes were wide, his mouth agape.

"H-Hey, Pickle." he said weakly, tears quickly rising to the corners of his eyes.

"I...uh..." he shook himself and blurted, "You can see me now?"

Toki just hesitated, took a step away, put his hands shyly behind his back. "Cans I..." his voice broke and he stood there trembling, wanting so badly to cry and shout. Pickles just sat up a little straighter and swallowed; he'd never wanted to see the guitarist like this, in so much pain and confusion. As if to answer his unspoken question, he nodded, but this didn't satisfy the guitarist. He had to ask it, to prove that this was all real. "Cans I maybe give you a hug?" Before he could really answer, the strength left Toki and he fell to his knees and hurried over into Pickles' arms. He embraced the drummer's cold frame tightly, all the while sobbing frantically, "Ams this a dream?"

He just buried his own tears and pulled Toki closer. He'd never felt anything so warm and inviting before; had he really been dead so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to have warm blood flowing thru his veins? "No, I don't think so," he whispered. "because this is too good to be a dream..."

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, until the sun was high in the sky and Toki decided that he'd had enough. Finally he ended the hug and sat down beside Pickles, took one of the drummer's hands and squeezed it. "I can't believes it...are you alive?"

"No."

"Ams you dead?"

"No."

He frowned in confusion. "Then what ams you? Do you _think _that you ams alive?"

Pickles considered this notion then shook his head. "Nah, I'm pretty dead, I think."

"Then how comes you am still here? Ams part of you still alive and the rest of you ams just-"

"I don't know, dude." he admitted sadly. "I don't remember anything...I don't remember what it was like to die, only that I thought _you _were dead."

Toki gave him a weird look. "Why would I be dead? You ams the one who...never mind, I don't wants to talks about it." he scooted closer to Pickles; now he was sitting so close that their shoulders touched, and he still held the drummer's hand tightly. "I still hates to think about it."

"But I need to know." Pickles protested, leaning toward him. "Please—how did I die? Maybe if I knew, then..." then what? He would disappear into whatever was beyond this, a horrible existence of utter solitude and coldness. Would he finally be allowed to close his eyes and remain forever in that nothing-place? He didn't want this, not after his love had finally acknowledged him. He couldn't leave now. But still, something inside of him insisted, "I really need to know."

"I—it ams hard." Toki confessed, "And I still don't know if this ams real..."

"But it _is!"_

"This ams not fair, then!" the guitarist yelled, suddenly changing his mood completely. He released Pickles' hand and pushed him away. "I can't believe that you just ams here—that you've always been here—and now you wants me to talk about it like it ams nothing! Pickle, it wasn't just _nothings _to me, okay? When you died I...I just didn't know what to do..." he looked away and wiped his eyes off on his blue shirt. "...I couldn't think or breathe or talk...I lost my voice, and I couldn't even see anymores. Everything was just—nothing was happy. I couldn't be happy abouts _anythings, _it was like the life had gone away from everythings, and now you just want me to talks about it?"

"I'm sorry, you're right." he said, realizing the horrible mistake he'd made. "I'm just happy to see you, that's all. Yesterday I thought that you'd never see me again, and..." his voice trailed off and a question came into his mind. He looked deeply into Toki's eyes and asked, "Why didn't you see me yesterday? What's with the change?"

"I..." he stared sheepishly at the ground and murmured, "You can't tells anyone, but-"

"I'm dead. Who would I tell?"

"-Ofdensen gaves us medicine—all of us, to calm us downs—and I didn't takes it this morning. I just couldn't. It makes me feel so bad inside, even though it makes some of the memory of you gos away...when I takes it I don't feel likes I want to die, but still..."

"What's it called?" Pickles asked urgently.

Toki thought for a long while then finally said, "I'ms not sure, but it starts with an 'L'." he paused, observed the terrified look on the drummer's face, then added, "It makes me go crazy sometimes; I gots really angry a whiles and threw the whole bottle against the wall, and it cracked."

They were both silent for a long while. Toki just let a concerned look take over his face. He reached for Pickles' hand again, but the drummer pulled away and shook his head. "No...no way can this be real...I don't understand it, any of it. How can _I _be dead. Where did I go wrong? I don't remember..."

"Why ams you still here?" Toki finally asked, giving him a tender smile. "Ams you still holding on to something?"

"Nah, nat something._ Someone."_

A look of understanding came across the guitarist's face and he nodded. "Ah, okays, I gets it. I girl, right? Likes one whats you fucked, but you didn't know that you loves her, so now you ams-"

"Why do you assume it's a girl I'm after?" Pickles inquired innocently. Toki's eyes shined with misunderstanding as he cocked his head to the side in a bizarre display of confusion.

"Nots a girl? Then who? A...guy?"

Terror filled the inside of Pickles, boiled over into his every pore and nerve. Suddenly he was trembling, on the verge of sobbing. "No, nothing! Forget it, just don't say it!" What if Toki found out how he felt? Once again the fear of disappearing into the great unknown, of being finally wiped away from the surface of the Earth filled him, and he was left to sit there next to Toki petrified. He wanted to say it so badly, those three words that he was sure bound him here in his afterlife, but he couldn't. Fear held him down. Instead he just reached out, placed a hand on Toki's shoulder, and breathed shakily, "I can't tell you what I want, not yet. I'm not ready."

"Ready? What do you haves to be ready for?"

"To die."

Toki's face paled. "You...Pickle, you ams still here because you wants someone, but you don't want to finds them because you ams scared?"

He nodded. "Yeah, somethin' like that."

"Oh, Pickle..." his voice filled with sympathy, and in a moment he was hugging the drummer. "I don't know what to do—should I bring out Skwisgaar and lets him see you? I could tell Nathans, or-"

"No, you can't." he pulled Toki away from him and held his wrists, shook him in a desperate attempt to make him understand the severity of the situation, "You can nat do 'dat, never tell them about me, okay? They won't understand, I don't think that they'll see me like you do...I'm only ever gonna let _you _see me, because I..." _love you._

"I don't understands, Pickle. We ams all really sad, so why can'ts I just—"

"_No!" _he cried. "If you do that then I'll leave you forever, never come back again, do you understand?"

"Don'ts leave!"

"Then don't tell them!"

Toki had a look of fear on his face as he said meekly, "I won't, Pickle. I'd never do anythings that you didn't want me to do; you always takes care of me, so I guess you know what you ams talking about." he fell once again into the drummer's arms and hugged him tightly, buried his face in the other man's shirt. "I still can't believes you've been here the whole time..."

"Toki, don't get me wrong, I wanna tell you, but I just can't."

"I understands."

"No, you don't. I really, really wanna tell you so maybe you could help me, but-"

"You don't trust me." he whispered into Pickles' chest. "I gets it."

His heart filled with guilt. "It's just...Toki, what did you think when I died? What did you say, what did you wanna say?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, what was the first thought that popped into your brain when you found out that I was gone—were you excited, were you-"

"No, don't ever says anything like that." Toki hissed, glaring up at Pickles. "I was hurts really bad."

"And what were you thinkin'?"

Silently, the guitarist sat up and sniffled. After a brief pause he met Pickles' emerald gaze and asked quietly, in a pained voice, "You ams trying to torture me."

"No I'm nat!" he said, shaking his head, gently resting a hand on Toki's leg. "Trust me, I know you don't get it now, but I need to know this."

"I...I..." his face reddened and he felt his heart grow cold. He said, embarrassed, "If I told you, you'd probably hates me."

"I could never-"

"I gots to go now." Toki said suddenly, rising to his feet. He turned, began to walk off, but stopped and looked back. "You will be here when I gets back, right?"

Pickles sighed and nodded. "Course I'll be here. I'll always be here." The Norwegian nodded and walked off, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans. The drummer watched him go, powerless to follow. He just sat there staring as Toki's form disappeared into the Mordhaus; despite the wretchedness of his situation, Pickles couldn't help but smile as he thought of just how perfect the Norwegian looked walking away from him like that.


	4. Chapter 4

Months passed and still Pickles was left to sit there miserable and alone by his gravestone. Eventually he lost all hope of ever finding a way out of his situation, so he fell back into his dead sleep. Voids of horrifying nothingness filled his senses, choked him, made him unable to move, but still he laid there in the cold dirt, feeling himself decompose. Eventually Toki did come back, but when he saw that Pickles was no long there, he nearly began crying. Had he left the drummer too long? Had he simply gone on to a restless afterlife? Why had he left him like this?

Pickles just rose up from the inside of the Earth and greeted the Norwegian with a hug. Immediately the tears left the guitarist's eyes, but he still was trembling all the same. "You ams really cold."

"I didn't even know you could feel me." he said, pulling away, slightly embarrassed at his display of emotion. They both sat down in the cool grass and leaned close to one another. They began talking, telling the other of the events of the past few months. Of course, Pickles didn't have much to tell, but what little he did have he shared with a wide-eyed, excited Toki. Finally the conversation grew scarce and there was but one thing to talk about.

"Pickle, why ams you still here if it ams so miserable?"

"I told you," he said, leaning back against his gravestone, "I'm nat ready to go yet; I still have somethin' important to do."

"I knows that you wants to tell somebody something, so why don't you just dos it if you don't likes being here so much?"

He felt a stab of pain enter his heart. His emerald eyes wandered over to Toki as he inquired, "You _want _me to go?"

The Norwegian quickly shook his head and gave Pickles a gentle, prodding smile. "No, no way, it ams just—damns it, I want to knows who you ams still hanging around for!" he nudged the drummer a little and added, "I wants to know who you likes so much."

"I...uh..." he swallowed and felt his hands begin to tremble—his face reddened, and Toki began snickering.

"Wows, you must likes them a lot if you ams blushing likes that."

He playfully pushed the guitarist away and laughed nervously. "Hey, shut up." he watched as Toki sat back up and grinned. This was too good to be true—how would the other man react to what the drummer was about to say? Of course Pickles knew what he had to do. He knew that he couldn't spend forever shadowing the person that he loved so much, he had no intention to. Obviously his death had stressed Toki out enough, so why shouldn't he end his suffering? If saying this was the only way that he could cross over and save the other man from going thru any more pain, then so be it. Pickles took a deep breath and then reached for the Norwegian's hand. Slowly he took it and held it, let his fingers run against the callused palm of the other man. "Can you really feel me?" he wondered, leaning in a little closer to the guitarist.

Toki, not knowing what to make of this odd behavior, just nodded and smiled a little more. God, that smile was so amazingly bright. "Ja, I reallys can. Why? Can't you feel me?"

"You feel so damn warm." he said, his voice breaking. "Can I...I wanna..." he was too scared to ask the question, too scared of rejection, so he simply pulled the Norwegian closer, so that they were less than an inch away. Before he could stop himself, he was kissing Toki with such hunger, lust, and desperation that he had to be roughly pushed away and slapped.

"Gets off of me! Whats the fuck do you think you ams _doing?" _he demanded, wiping his mouth off on his hand. "That ams_ disgusting, _Pickle!" he rose up and went to walk away; the drummer attempted to do the same thing, but ended up just being pulled back over to his tombstone. He fell against it nearly sobbing.

"You fuckin' idiot! Don't you get it? I'm still here because of you! I love you!"

****{{}}{{}}{{}}****

More time passed. Pickles was left to sit there, under the cool shade of the trees, in the blazing heat of the sun, as summer turned to fall. He was utterly alone now, totally cut off from the rest of the world. Obviously nobody came to visit him, and he didn't disappear, either. He didn't know why, but for some reason he just couldn't cross over. It seemed as though his soul was still restlessly unsatisfied with its current condition, and when he thought about it, he supposed it made sense. All he could do was sit there, brush dead, fallen leaves off of himself, and watch the sun dissolve and the moon rise. A time came when he wished that he could just evaporate, and he tried laying down and sleeping like he'd done before, but the vast voids of that nothingness that had once been waiting so persistently for him in the ground earlier would not accept him.

He longed for the stinging taste of alcohol, the high of a line of cocaine—_anything. _One day he let out a frustrated sigh and closed his tired eyes; he could clearly see Toki laying in his bed sleeping. It was late now, probably about eleven or twelve at night. The Norwegian's room was as it had always been, strewn with a random assortment of junk, dirty clothes, and kiddish stuff. Pickles arched a brow and leaned against the desk that was carefully tucked in a corner of the guitarist's room. Not knowing how he'd gotten there or what to do, he just relaxed and watched Toki sleep.

Fitfully, the Norwegian let out a tired moan and rolled over onto his back, hugged his deddy bear close to his shirtless chest. Pickles swallowed nervously and carefully wandered over to the side of Toki's bed. He knelt down and reached a hand out to him, lightly touched his cheek, then pulled away. Once his confidence returned to him, he repeated this action, only this time he allowed his fingers to wind their way into the guitarist's hair. Was this a dream? Surely not, this was too real. Everything stood out to the drummer in such detail that it was almost startling, and the other man's skin nearly burned his hand with its fiery-hot warmth.

"I love you." he said, hoping that this would help the situation.

Perhaps this was it—perhaps he was finally crossing over and this was his last few precious moments he'd dwell on Earth. Was he about to pass on to the next phase of his afterlife? _No, _he thought rebelliously, leaning closer to Toki, _not now, not when I just got to see him again...not when I just got to touch him..._

Surely this must be his end, because never before had the drummer ever laid his eyes on such a beautiful, impossibly astounding sight as Toki sleeping. He ran his hand over the guitarist's hard muscles, felt the warm blood flowing under the other man's skin. Finally Toki sat up and, still hugging his deddy bear, he scooted away from Pickles. "Whats do you want? How ams you-"

"Sorry," he said, quickly backing off, "I don't really know what I'm doin' here. I just closed my eyes and-"

"Gets out!"

"I can't! I don't know how I even got here, dude!"

The Norwegian's eyes filled with tears as he began trembling. "This ams not real, this ams not-"

"It's a dream?"

"It ams not real!"

"Then what is it?" Pickles demanded, " 'cause I sure as hell don't know." when Toki just closed his eyes and shook his head, the drummer dared to get up, sit on the bed next to him, and pull him into an awkward hug. "I'm sorry." but that didn't begin to cover what he was really feeling. A sickening mixture of regret, sorrow, and confusion was bubbling in his chest, and it made him want to vomit. "I'm so fuckin' sorry I did what I did—everything. I'm sorry I drank so much, did so many damn drugs, and screwed you over so many times..."

"Pickle," Toki began, "I-"

"...and I'm sorry for all the times I told you to shut up, and that time I accidentally broke your guitar, and when we were fighting onstage that one time and I pulled your hair and gave you a black eye..."

"-it ams okay!" He hugged the Norwegian so tightly that he could barley breathe, but still he didn't pull away. Instead he just wrapped his arms around Pickles' waist and accepted his apologies.

"...I shouldn't have been such an asshole-"

"Yeah, you shouldn't haves been."

"-and tried to kiss you like 'dat, because it was wrong and stupid and I know you don't really understand, but I just _had _to try it, because I've always wanted to." he was talking quickly, nearly hyperventilating as he said, "You just don't get it 'cause you're nat like like that, I know, but I least I _think _I am, 'cause I love you a lot." he pulled away and gave Toki a weak smile. Breathlessly he repeated, "That's it, I love you."

He seemed at a loss for words; in the end all he could do was nod and turn a bright shade of red. "Okays, I guess. You knows, I've actually been thinking to that times that you kissed me, ands-"

"You're the only reason that I was ever alive, you were the only thing that made life worth livin', and I can't go on to..." he paused and settled with, "..._wherever _yet because I just can't leave you."

"You don't haves to leave me."

"I—what?" Pickles gave Toki an odd look and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I don't want you to leaves me, nots ever." he encouraged the drummer to sit up and open his arms. Slowly Toki curled up in his lap and rested his head against Pickles' chest. "You ams so fuckings cold," he whispered, pressing a hand to the other man's chest. After a moment of thought he said, "I don't wants you to go away, never. Promise me that you ams not going to go away without me."

"But I-"

"Dos it." Toki fixed his gaze onto the drummer's face and begged quietly, "Please."

That was it, this had to be a dream. Reality wasn't this kind to him, not anymore. Toki couldn't possibly be accepting another man's touch, be willingly running his hands along the drummer's pale, colorless skin... "I...I promise, dude." he wanted to say something else, to say so much more, but his voice failed him and he was left to just sit there under the inviting touch of his love. Finally, though, reality hit him and he took Toki's wrists and guided his hands away. "Don't do 'dat—you shouldn't touch me."

His face fell and lost all traces of the intense, quiet curiosity that it had once held. "Whys not? I wants to touch you." he kissed Pickles' neck, made him blush, then whispered, "When you were freakings out I tried to tell you that I've really began thinking backs to that kiss, and-"

"Is this real?" he wondered aloud, looking around the room, a mesmerized look in his emerald green eyes. Toki ignored this question and continued to kiss the drummer's throat.

"Nobody's ever kissed me likes that before." he whispered, pulling Pickles into a warm embrace. When the drummer just stiffened in his arms, he added, "I wants you to dos it again."

"What? I—n-no, I can't, we can't...this shouldn't be happening, it's nat okay!" he exclaimed as realization hit him. No, this wasn't good. Toki should be living in the present, not the past. Pickles was nothing but a distant memory now, a long dead dream that now could never be. They couldn't be together like this, it was almost like cheating death itself, and if Pickles knew one thing it was that no matter how much you tried, death would always win in the long run. He might even end up seriously hurting—or killing—Toki. He couldn't bear that thought, so roughly he pushed the other man away and rose up. Swallowing back his lust and desire, he began to make his way back over towards the door that he'd come in. The Norwegian just stared at him, his blue eyes wide with confusion.

"So you don't likes me anymore?"

"No, it's just that-"

"I knew you always hateds me." he pulled the covers of his bed up to cover his shirtless chest.

Pickles quickly shook his head, feeling an overwhelming guilt enter his heart. "Nah, that ain't it at all. I love you, but we just can't do this—it isn't right, don't you get it? I'm _dead, _Toki. You're not, so maybe we should just move on and pretend like there isn't anything, alright?"

"There's always beens something betweens us, Pickle." he said resiliently, glaring at the drummer in a display of childish anger. "And I can'ts ignores it. I've been unhappy forevers, but you can change it—you can change me. I wants you to do that. I wants to be happy again." Slowly he rose up out of his bed, let his sheets fall from his body. Pickles just stood there, his hand still gripping the knob of the door, ready to leave. He couldn't though, not now. Not after he'd made everything perfect then destroyed it again. He was powerless to stop himself as his long-buried lust rose up inside of him; he reached a hand out. Toki took it and let himself be pulled into the drummer's arms. Pickles felt numb as his fingers worked their way across bare skin, felt that blistering heat. His mouth watered and he pressed his lips to the Norwegian's forehead.

"Ams this an okay thing to do?"

Like he cared. Nothing could stop him now, because whether he liked it or not, the guitarist had been right. There had _always _been something between them. At night Pickles had always wanted to be lying next to Toki, to have the ability to run his hands thru his soft, lavish curtain of brown hair, to feel the warmth of their bodies touching...

"This is the _only _thing to do." he said finally, his cold hands wandering down and gripping Toki's ass. Yes, that was what he wanted more than anything else in the whole damn world. The Norwegian became tense, but relaxed as Pickles kissed his cheek. Did the guitarist always sleep in his underwear? Pickles smiled to himself and leaned in close to the other man, his lips parted and poised. Their lips molded together, and immediately Toki gave in and opened himself up for Pickles. He felt the drummer's tongue running along the inside of his mouth, moaned, broke away, then went in again. Nothing was enough; each of them craved more, so they continued to take from one another until air became scarce and neither one could breathe. They were left to stand there in the center of the room panting and moaning with pleasure.

"Mores," Toki pleaded, taking Pickles' hand and kissing the palm. He pressed the hand to his own chest and blushed.

"No." he said, shaking his head and attempting to pull away. "No more, that was enough." the greater, more dominant part of his brain wouldn't let him move; he couldn't leave this place, even if it was a dream. He wanted so much more, to take things to an other unimaginable level. Some fire deep down inside of him had been sparked by that kiss, and he needed more. It was as though he was gradually becoming warmer, alive again. The thing that would wake him up permanently was that unimaginable deed, the thing that he'd pictured himself doing so many times—in business meetings, during concerts, band rehearsals, and even press conferences—he wanted more than anything to make love to the guitarist.

"But I—we can't do it." he said to himself, nearly sobbing at this realization. "We can't, 'cause I could hurt you..."

"Hurts me? How could you do that?"

"Can you even feel me when I touch you?" he asked, turning away. "Do I hurt you?"

"Pickle, I-"

"Answer the Gad damn question!"

Toki looked away, knowing where this was leading. He removed himself from the drummer's arms and stepped back a little. "What does that have to dos with anything? You knows that I love you."

"That doesn't have anything to do with it! I-" his voice broke as he confessed, "I just can't hurt you, 'dat's all. You feel so good, so fuckin' nice, but I can't feel like that, can I? I must hurt you...you must hate touchin' me."

"Nos!" he protested, "I don'ts!"

"Lemme see your hand." Toki hesitated before holding out his hand, palm up. Pickles took hold of his wrist, watching the other man's face carefully. He was expressionless, even as the drummer held up his own hand and pressed it his. A flash of agony shined in the pale eyes of the guitarist, but Pickles didn't stop, despite the fact that it hurt his heart to put his love thru this pain. A perfectly warm, inviting feeling entered him and he let out a content sigh. The Norwegian just shifted where he stood, bit his lower lip, and blinked.

"See? It ams not hurting m-"

"Don't move." he instructed. Toki had tried to pull away, but Pickles wouldn't let him. The guitarist began shaking slightly, and he uttered a little hiss of discomfort.

"Y-You ams so cold..." Pickles said nothing, but he cast his sad eyes directly to Toki's pale ones. He saw the pain reflected there, a kind of stabbing agony. _I'm sorry, _he thought, _but I just have to know, I have to hear it from your own mouth, so that way I know you finally get it._

"I-It..." he shut his eyes tightly, allowed tears to begin trailing down his face. Pickles made a move to wipe them away, but hesitated when the other man flinched back. "It_ hurts."_

****{{}}{{}}{{}}****

He opened his eyes, unaware of where he was or even that he was a ghost at all. After taking a moment to blink and look around, observe the pleasant sunlight from above, feel the fresh morning dew, he understood. It had been nothing but a dream, a mere whisper of a wish. Knowing this sent him spiraling into a deep depression, and he had no choice but to hug his knees to him and sob. If only it had been real, something more than just a cruel illusion. Why was this happening to him? Had he really been such a horrible person that he deserved this afterlife? He remembered many incidents that told him that he had indeed earned this torture.

"_Toki, you fuckin' prick, can't you learn to play your fuckin' guitar right?" he demanded of a teary-eyed, distressed Norwegian during rehearsal. Skwisgaar nodded and began ganging up on the other guitarist as well._

"_Ja, you stupids, useless...God, you ammnest such a big waste of space!" Pickles said nothing to dispute this, just laughed and drank some more from the bottle that he'd placed next to his drum kit..._

_The snow bit into them as they watched Toki stare aimlessly at his parent's house; he'd received a call days earlier telling him the grim news of his father's impending death, so they'd all come to Norway to support him. Now Pickles regretted it as he stood there freezing, without a prayer or even a sip of booze. The stupid kid, he thought, bein' so gay and sad...GET OVER IT! Nobody cares that his fuckin' dad's dyin', we all just came so 'dat we didn't have to record..._

"_Are you kiddin' me?" Pickles yelled at a disgruntled Toki, roughly pushing him away. "You broke my drums? How the fuck did you manage to do 'dat, you fuckin' bitch?"_

"_It ams-was an accident." he answered meekly, looking down, trying to hide his obvious same. "I'm sorrys."_

"_Fuck you! I don't care how sorry you are!" he turned away from Toki, balled his hands into fists, and resisted the overpowering urge to punch him. "You're so Gad damn stupid. Don't you ever think before doin' stuff?"_

"_I saids that I was-"_

"_Shut up!" he cried, turning around and smacking him in the mouth. Toki fell back, astonished, a hand pressed to his bloody mouth. "This is why nobody likes you, 'cause you fuck everything up, 'cause you're a mistake! Gad," he walked away and sighed tiredly, "I really fuckin' hate you..."_

"Pickle, ams you okay?"

"Huh?" he looked up and saw thru his teary eyes Toki. He stood before him with a sad sort of smile on his face. Quickly Pickles wiped his tears away on his shirt, then got up to greet him. "Hey," he said, opening his arms for a hug; he froze, remembering the guitarist's words from before. _It hurts. _

Toki seemed to know just what he was thinking, because in a moment he was saying matter-of-factly, "Ja, I knows. I dreams it too."

"Dream?" he asked, scratching his head. "Whadda mean?"

"I dreams that you were in my room, and-"

"Oh yeah, _that _dream." he became depressed again and sat back down by his gravestone. "I wish it had been real."

"Who says it wasn't?" Toki inquired gently, taking a seat beside him. He gave Pickles a sideways smile and added, "I thinks it was real, in a way. I meant everything I said ins it, at least. Did you?"

"Well yeah, but-"

"Thens it was as good as real."

A slow, understanding smile spread across the drummer's face; he nodded and agreed, "Yeah, as good as."

"Ands now I'm here, and you're here, sos what ams we going to do?"

"I...uh..." he shrugged. "I dunno, what _can _we do?"

"Sits here together and just be pals?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding, "sure."

The sat very close, but not so close that they were touching. Pickles would never touch Toki again now that he knew it hurt him so much. Although he had to try hard and resist the urge to do so, he didn't reach for the other man's hand or try to slip an arm around his waist. He was content just to sit there in his love's presence, close yet miles away, separated by the line between life and death, which now, as time went on, was beginning to seem murkier and murkier. Despite the fact that a million thoughts were churning in his brain, a single statement popped out of Pickles' mouth.

"You still didn't tell me yet, dude."

"Tells you what?"

"How I died."

Toki's smile disappeared from his fair face and he looked down at his dusty boots. "I don'ts really know...there ams not much to tell, reallys. You went to bed earlys one day and said goodnights, told us that you'd see us tomorrow in the mornings, then you went up to your room, and got so fuckings stoned and drunks that you just fell asleep and didn't wake up." he shrugged casually and continued, "It was bound to happened eventuallys, that ams what Skwisgaar saids."

"Oh." he felt very foolish. So he really hadn't gone out in a blaze of glory? He'd just been like millions of other druggies and alcoholics and overdosed on God knew what? "That was stupid," he finally admitted, plucking up a few blades of grass distractedly, "wastin' my life like that. I bet that I still had a few more good years in me before that night."

"Ja, and you knows what?"

"Yeah?"

"I still can't stop thinkings about it—abouts you. Pickle," he turned even more serious all of the sudden and took the drummer's hand in his own, despite the shock waves of agony that this action sent thru his body. He made Pickles turn to face him and said quietly, with a disturbing amount of determination in his voice, "I wants to be with you, I really, really dos." He began to panic, sensing where the conversation was going. He raced to pull his hand out of the guitarist's grasp, but Toki wouldn't have it. He fell into the drummer's lap and begged, "Please, I wants to die, please just lets me die and be with you."

"No, you can't do 'dat!" he insisted, throwing the Norwegian away from him. "Don't ever say that again! I don't wanna hear that kinda shit from you!"

"But I wants to be with you!"

"You already _are _with me, right here, right now!" he argued, swallowing back his fear of what was about to come. "Just don't die, please. It's not half of what you think it is, it's horrible..." he looked down at his filthy, dirt-crusted hands, his blackened fingernails, and pale, bloodless skin. "...it really sucks."

"I don't cares, all that ams important is that I can really be with you." he still tried to touch Pickles, but the drummer roughly shoved him back.

"No, don't touch me!" he howled, "Just go back to the Mordhaus where you belong and stap comin' to see me every fuckin' day! Why can't you just leave me alone? It's already bad enough knowin' that you're alive fuckin' girls and having fun with everyone else, but you have to come and rub it in my face _every damn day." _he cursed himself for having to say this, but if it was the only way to ensure Toki's safety, then it had to be done. He felt his stomach tying itself into knots, felt his heart ripping as he whispered painfully, "I hate you."

****{{}}{{}}{{}}****

_Something's wrong, _Pickles thought as he gazed up at the illuminated windows of the Mordhaus. It was night now, and everything should be still and tranquil, but he sensed something very wrong. He sensed death, that inescapable vice, drawing nearer to him. At first he'd figured it had just been because he was finally ready to cross over, but something else inside of him said that no, it didn't have to do with him. It seemed as though, as he peered up and watched the moon shine in the black velvet sky, a dark, toxic cloud of devastation had settled down over the whole house.

The answer to the impossible riddle seemed to come all at once—he let out a gasp and cried, "Toki!" He got up, tried to move, but couldn't. Some invisible chain held him fast to his gravestone, and he was left to stand there, willing himself to take a step. This proved impossible, and so after about two minutes of trying to break away he quit and collapsed, exhausted, onto the grass. He reached a hand out towards the Mordhaus, shut his eyes tightly, and prayed to some God that he didn't believe in, that he'd lost all faith in, to help him.

His strength failed him and he was left to lie motionless in the grass, cloaked by the darkness of night, invisible from the world. Without a hope he closed his crying emerald eyes. There he was, standing once again in the threshold of Toki's room, watching as some kind of red liquid pooled at his feet, stained his already filthy sneakers. He frowned and let his gaze follow the crimson trail all the way over to where a crumpled figure lay. His heart sank into the pits of his stomach as he walked over to the person lying on the floor.

"T-Toki," he whispered, leaning closer to the figure. A curtain of caramel-colored hair obscured the pale and lifeless face, so he delicately moved some of it aside and exposed the Norwegian's eyes. They were still shining, still holding mere traces of the man's old self. He was still alive, though his heart was scarcely beating. He'd lost so much blood...how had Pickles allowed things to become this dire?

"Heys, Pickle," Toki whispered, his voice a nearly inaudible whisper of pain.

He closed his eyes and tried to wake up, tried so very hard to prove that this was nothing but some kind of horrible dream. "I told you _not _to do this, you fuckin'...why did you do it?"

"I wants to be with you." he explained simply, his eyes closing for a long, suspenseful moment. Suddenly he let out a gasp and tried to sit up, but fell back into his blood, began crying.

"What?" Pickles asked, cradling the Norwegian to him. "What's wrong?"

"You ams going away now..." he breathed weakly. "I can barley see you...please don'ts go away..."

_That's because you're dying, _he thought, sniffling a little. This was it, he supposed. Nothing could be done now. He looked down, saw his ghostly skin was soaked with the warmth of Toki's blood. He couldn't imagine the fact that soon his love would be just as cold and invisible as himself, and it was all his fault. "I'm sorry," he whispered, hugging Toki close to him, "I'm so fuckin' sorry..."

"Pickle, it ams not your fault." he said, smiling a little, sweet smile. He reached a hand out, pressed it to Pickles' cheek, and said softly, his voice faltering, "Y-You ams not cold anymore."

Then, from the black, forgotten recesses of the drummer's mind there spoke a voice. It was a voice that was not understanding, but very sympathetic. It was deep and harsh, yet soft and yielding. It held an impossible air of superiority, an immense amount of wisdom. It was Death, the Reaper of Souls himself, and he spoke calmly to Pickles, as if they were simply discussing the whether over a Sunday cup of coffee.

_You, _It said, _have made many mistakes._

_I know, _Pickles thought, _but I don't know what to do now...I can't let him die, but he can't survive this...there's so much blood..._

_This is the worst thing you've ever done. It's all your fault._

_Yeah, I know._

_So that's why I'm leaving the decision up to you. _It paused for a long moment as if deciding how to continue, then finally settled with the carefully chosen words of, _It's quite simple, really—cross over and never see him again, or dwell on Earth for eternity, walking in the boy's shadow, following him, but always be ignored..._

Pickles felt himself begin to cry. He looked down at the bleeding, nearly dead body of his love and began to tremble. _I-I can't choose...can't I just nat choose either?_

_He will die, then._

_Will he be with me?_

_Perhaps, _It said thoughtfully, _or perhaps not._

He began to completely sob now; not knowing what else to do, he leaned down and buried his face in Toki's mass of warm, long hair. It was matted with blood now, and it clung to his face. _Will he cross over without me?_

It repeated, _Perhaps so, perhaps not. _

_I don't know what to do! I can't take his life away, I can't force him to be dead..._

It seemed to understand quite perfectly, because in a moment It was saying comfortingly, _But consider whether or not life is really worth living without a reason to be alive. _

It was then that he understood what he had to do. Pickles shut his eyes tightly and said strongly, "I know what to do..." just as the words left his lips, Toki gave him a comforting little grin and, as the life left his body, he sighed.

"I loves you."

****{{}}{{}}{{}}****

Outside of the Mordhaus today there stands two marble gravestones, each adjacent to the other, one surrounded by overgrown ground and the other by freshly unearthed dirt. Withered flower petals will occasionally drift from one grave to the other, serving as a grim reminder of just how forgotten the dead are after the grieving is done. One is engraved in Norwegian, and it reads exactly this:

_Elsket Evig_

The other is so overgrown that no words can be read from the stone face of it. Together the two stones sit and wait for the day that they will crumble into dust and be lost to eternity. They are dead, but their occupants are not. A fair distance away from his gravestone Toki lays next to Pickles and they both watch the Mordhaus carefully. They can touch each other and pain does not come. The loneliness is something that they left in their old life. Now they are truly together, separated by no boundaries of the living and the breathing and the dead and gone.

"When do you thinks people will stop cryings over me?"

"It takes a while," Pickles explained, draping an arm over the Norwegian's shoulders and pulling him closer. "maybe forever."

"Pickle?"

He glanced over at Toki, kissed him, then asked lightheartedly, "Huh?"

"I'ms glad I died for you."

"I'm glad you died for me, too."

"That ams good, because I think that we ams stuck with each other."

He grinned and ran a hand thru Toki's perfectly straight, smooth hair. " 'Dat's fine with me."


End file.
